


Nicorette

by Lacerta26



Series: Got a Light? [3]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Fighting, Fluff, M/M, Minor Injuries, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 05:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17843264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacerta26/pseuds/Lacerta26
Summary: Eggsy tries to give up smoking and Harry tries to help.





	Nicorette

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up sweeter and somehow also more pervy than I had planned? So it goes.
> 
> I thought it was about time Eggsy gave up smoking so this is probably the last of this little series. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Comments and kudos always wonderful!

Harry gave up smoking, officially, in 1995 and give or take a few _minor_ lapses he hasn’t smoked since.

Eggsy smoked his first cigarette in 2004 and if Harry has anything to do with it he’ll have smoked his last 13 years later.

I.

Harry is at very real risk of cracking his jaw he’s clenching it so hard as he watches from across the boardroom table as Eggsy shoves another piece of nicotine gum into his mouth. Eggsy has, to put it mildly, been struggling to quit smoking for the last two weeks and it’s never more obvious than during interminable budget meetings. Harry would challenge anyone to get through them without craving something: biscuits, cigarettes, a bullet to the head.

The trouble is Eggsy looks so beautiful when he’s desperate and the look he’d had when Percival and Kay got up for a fag break an hour ago nearly had Harry leaping across the table to comfort him. Harry is all too aware of the gossip that goes on about them, wry smiles and raised eyebrows, and he doesn’t want to add fuel to the fire so he contents himself with watching Eggsy looking wounded and put upon, his hair sticking up where he’s been running his hands through it and the dark smudges under his eyes. He’s fidgeting in his seat, his eyes darting to Harry in a way that’s terribly becoming.

And the gum. Good lord the gum. Harry has a hard enough time getting Eggsy to stop eating with his mouth open, talking with his mouth full. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s been sprayed with a face of crisps because Eggsy had something so important to tell him he couldn’t fucking _swallow_ first. He’s no better with the gum, chewing constantly, and he’s getting through packets of the stuff. Whilst it’s wildly out of the realms of proper etiquette to be chewing gum all day it is less disgusting than talking with your mouth full but it also draws a rather unfair amount of attention to Eggsy’s mouth; the slick wet inside of his lips and the sharp line of his jaw working as he chews.

‘Arthur!’ says Merlin, cutting across Harry’s rather pleasant daydream about what else Eggsy could be distracted by and he starts guiltily, resolutely keeps his gaze off Eggsy although he can see he’s still fidgeting out of the corner of his eye.

‘We’re not boring you are we?’ says Merlin and he’s glaring but there’s a wry tilt to his mouth and Harry knows Merlin knows exactly what’s distracted him.

Across the table Roxy twists in a way that can only mean she’s giving Eggsy a sharp kick under the table and he stills for a moment, looking mullish and strung out, a lovely pink flush spreading across his cheekbones. He looks ravishing. He looks _ravished._ And Harry feels a momentary twinge of guilt for liking the way it looks on him.

‘I thought it was Galahad who was trying to quit. Don’t tell me you’re gasping for it as well, Arthur?’ says Kay, with a leer, because he’s a shit who doesn’t know when to shut up.

Harry glares daggers at him and Merlin raises a quelling hand, ‘gentlemen, perhaps we should stop for a quick break? A coffee, tea? Galahad?’

‘What? Sorry,’ Eggsy shifts in his seat, looking up at Merlin with exhaustion writ clear across his face and Harry resolves to stop being quite such a dirty old man in the face of his plight. At least for the rest of the afternoon.

‘Maybe you’d like to make yourself a coffee, stretch your legs?’

Eggsy nods absently, sweeping the assorted gum wrappers from the table in front of him in to his palm and getting up to wander aimlessly out of the room. No one else moves for a beat, until Harry stands, and then there’s a frenetic blur of activity; Roxy bouncing over to speak to Merlin about something and Kay gesturing to Percival with two fingers to his lips and a shrug in the direction of the french windows out into the grounds of the manor.

He finds Eggsy across the hall in his office, still clutching his gum wrappers and Harry gently pries them from his hands to toss in the wastepaper basket.

‘Darling, did you want a coffee?’

Eggsy shakes his head, ‘nah, Harry, thanks. I’ll shake right out of my skin.’

He scrubs a hand over his face and rolls out his shoulders coming in close to tuck his head under Harry’s chin. Harry lets himself be all encompassing, wrapping his arms round Eggsy to pull him in, grounding and still.

‘You’re doing so well, Eggsy.’

Eggsy snorts, ‘yeah? Don’t feel like it.’

‘You are, I promise.’

‘It’s alright when I’m busy,’ he says into Harry’s neck, ‘but in there there’s nothing to distract me and it’s all I can think about.’

‘I know it’s difficult...’ Harry begins but Eggsy leans back to glare at him, ‘shut up, I know you still sneak a cheeky fag sometimes. Don’t see why I should have to quit if you don’t.’

‘Because I smoke once every six months whereas you were on ten a day.’

‘Spose.’

‘It was affecting your fitness scores and, quite frankly, it would be embarrassing if I outlive you.’

‘Piss off,’ says Eggsy but he’s smiling into Harry’s skin now and leans up to allow himself to be kissed, weirdly adjacently minty tasting as he is, until the tension has eased from his shoulders.

‘Did you want anything? Or shall we head back in?’ Harry says, hands on Eggsy’s arse to pull him even closer.

No, I’ll be fine and you better pack that in or it won’t be the fags I’m gagging for.’

Harry pulls himself away from the delicious heat of Eggsy’s skin but only because he knows Merlin’s patience only goes so far when it comes to Eggsy and nowhere at all when it comes to Harry.

 

II.  
  
It’s not unusual for the answer to the question “have you seen Eggsy” to be “in the gym” but Harry notices it seems to be increasing in frequency in the last few weeks. Harry loves to watch Eggsy exercising, aesthetic appreciation and sheer, unbridled lust a potent combination, but he’s beginning to sense that Eggsy is searching desperately for something to get him through the nicotine withdrawal he’s been fighting the last month or so and now the answer tends to come with a shake of the head and a barely repressed look of concern.

Harry changes out of his suit and heads down to the subterranean levels of the manor where Eggsy is in the gym hitting a punching bag with lacklustre enthusiasm. He watches, briefly, noting the tension across Eggsy’s shoulders, the sulky resignation on his face. That’s quite enough of that.

‘That’s appalling form you know.’

Eggsy starts, whipping round, before squaring his shoulders, a return to the defensiveness that Kingsman has all but taught him to control; it doesn’t suit him. It had been obvious from the moment they’d met that Eggsy was sweet, emotional, the kind of lad children and dogs are automatically enamoured with but his automatic response is to turn to the physical in times of crisis, to throw himself off buildings, start a fight. Eggsy _does,_ then he wants to talk about it.

‘Yeah, wanna show me how it’s done, old man?’ he sneers.

Eggsy is younger than Harry, agile, flexible. In a fight he takes risks, knowing he’ll always be the fastest, the lightest on his feet but Harry has been fighting baddies since before Eggsy was born, he’s honed his skills for years and, crucially, he’s not currently desperate for a cigarette and having a strop about it. So, he stands up straighter, becomes Arthur, the Kingsman, ruthless and deadly, ‘gladly.’

To be fair to him Eggsy doesn’t even flinch.

Harry ducks the first punch easily; it’s sloppily thrown, Eggsy telegraphing his intentions _years_ before he moves. The second punch makes contact, glancing off Harry’s shoulder and he grabs Eggsy’s arm at the wrist, twists it behind him, getting in close to pin his other arm to his side, hot against his back so he can hiss in Eggsy’s ear, ‘is this how you fight on missions? I’ll have to speak to Merlin about extra training.’

‘Piss off,’ Eggsy shoves an elbow back, hooks his foot round Harry’s ankle but it only serves to unsteady them both and they crash to the mats. Eggsy rolls away and on to his feet quickly, squaring up to Harry properly, face determined and when Harry throws a punch he sidesteps smoothly, turning the move into a roundhouse kick that catches Harry in the stomach, winding him.

Eggsy grins, already crowing with delight at the victory, and Harry takes the opportunity so beautifully presented to him, stays low and tackles Eggsy round his waist. He brings them both back down, controlled this time; straddling Eggsy’s legs, pinning him to the floor with a hand to his throat. They’re breathing hard, Eggsy straining against the hold Harry has on him, hands scrabbling against Harry’s chest.

‘Do you see?’ says Harry, ‘you cannot afford to let distractions get the better of you. And you are allowed to ask for help if you need it.’

Eggsy goes still, hands flailing to tap out on the floor and as soon as Harry's grip slackens Eggsy surges upwards to pull him in to a kiss, hard and demanding, but when they break apart his voice is plaintive, ‘then _help_ me.’

Harry doesn’t patronise, offer platitudes or pointless comfort, stands swiftly to help Eggsy back to his feet, ‘do you want to talk about it?’

Eggsy huffs, searching Harry’s face, ‘I just...I don't like feeling out of control...wanting a cigarette and knowing I can’t have one. That I shouldn’t have one. I smoked my first cigarette when I was 13, Harry, and it’s so _hard._ ’

It's psychological as well as physical, then. Eggsy had been so concerned when he officially joined Kingsman that he was betraying something of his old self, despite Harry's assurances. Reminders of his old life that aren't destructive are few and far between, a couple of cigarettes here and there might feel like a benign souvenir of Eggsy's past compared to others. 

'Do you remember what I said to you when we first met?'

'True nobility is being superior to your former self,' Eggsy intones dutifully, something of his usual humour back in his voice, 'it's just it's the last bit of who I was, you know, before you made a gentleman out of me.'

'You are not losing anything of who you were in doing this but neither does your past define you.'

'Right, I know. Thanks, Harry,' Eggsy smiles, a small, sweet one that means he's let something go.

Harry grins, 'excellent. Now, are we going to stand around all day or are we going to fight?'

When he's not preoccupied Eggsy  _is_ almost as good in a fight as Harry. 

 

III.

‘Fuck me, Harry, these are well good,’ says Eggsy lying totally prostrate on the sofa opening his - second - packet of oreos like some sort of latter day Roman emperor. He’d come straight home from the shop with a sour look on his face, disappeared upstairs without a word and returned moments later in a soft t-shirt and loose pyjama bottoms, as clear a signal as any that he wants an evening on the sofa playing video games and eating junk food.

‘I can assure you I’ve sampled them and they are no such thing. Haven’t you had enough? You’ll spoil your appetite, I was going to make a risotto for dinner.’

Harry is generally loathe to comment on what Eggsy eats because he’s a firm believer in the adage that a little of what you fancy does you good. Eggsy’s borderline obsessive dedication to the gym and the fact he’s still the right side of 30 means he doesn’t have to worry about it but Harry knows he does anyway. If only he knew just how much Harry loves to grab a hold of his body now he has licence to do so; firm muscle and soft skin and the pleasing bounce of flesh, filling out on a diet of more than pot noodle and redbull. Harry lives to put his hands on Eggsy’s arse, his hips, feel the tight, narrow span of his waist, dig his fingers in and squeeze.

Now is perhaps not the right time to tell him.

Eggsy makes a face like he knows exactly what Harry’s thinking regardless, ‘fuck off. It’s this or I have a smoke.’

‘You’ve been doing so well.’

‘Yeah, well, I’ve been well on edge since that mission last week and Merlin’s been on one about requisitions and mum was nagging we don’t go visit often enough…’ he sighs looking at the detritus surrounding him, crisp packets and crumbs down his front, like he’s only just noticed it’s there.

Harry knows Eggsy used smoking as a balm for his frayed nerves, habit and comfort both, so it’s no surprise after the few weeks they’ve had that he’s looking for a substitute. It’s been three months since his last cigarette; in the heat of a mission it didn't trouble him but now they’re back home with other responsibilities weighing heavy on their shoulders. Eggsy worries about his mum and sister and he’s been avoiding going to visit because old habits die hard; Michelle still smokes and he’s worried it’ll be a temptation.   

Harry toes his shoes off and slides on to the sofa beside Eggsy, rolling him gently onto his side so they’re lying chest to chest, legs entwined. This close he can only look into one of Eggsy’s eyes at a time as he strokes his fingers along Eggsy’s cheekbone, in the crease forming between his eyes. Despite his earlier mood Eggsy melts into the touch, softly pliant against Harry’s chest as his eyes slip closed. In the time they’ve been together Harry has come to revel in these calm and tender moments, ones that don’t have to lead anywhere. Just them being together because they want to and they can. Harry was alone in his house for so long, alone in his life, really, it still takes him by surprise how right it feels to live with Eggsy by his side. Had he had concerns that the difference in their life experience would preclude anything more than a brief flirtation? Yes. Harry’d no desire to settle down at 25, let alone with someone nearly 30 years his senior, and he’d harboured a near constant worry that he was falling for someone liable to be chronically afraid of commitment. As it turns out Eggsy had had similar worries; it simply did not occur to Harry that having reached 52 with no significant relationships to show for it might be a red flag. Merlin had called Harry an old fool and Eggsy had been subjected to a lecture from both Roxy _and_ his mother on the subject of not second guessing his own happiness. Michelle’s approval had been a hard won thing and Harry is not about to waste it.

‘Let me look after you. Tell me how I can make it better.’

Eggsy opens his eyes to look at him askance, like the thought’s only just occurred to him, ‘you like me like this?’

‘No, darling, I hate to see you suffer. But I must admit that desperation is a very beautiful look on you.’

‘You’re a dirty old man, you know that, Harry.’

‘Indulge me.’

‘Will you make it worth it?’

‘When do I not?’

Eggsy shifts slightly, thigh pressing between Harry’s legs, ‘go on then,’ and Harry kisses him on the forehead, slides off the sofa to head into the kitchen.

‘Excellent, the risotto will be ready in about an hour.’

At least he’s laughing when he tells Harry to fuck off this time.

 

IV.

Eggsy’s body is a witness; recording every fight he’s ever had. He bruises so easily, coming back from missions with sickly purple stains spreading across his ribs, his knuckles split. He adds to the scars, more than he should have by 25; those left by Dean or earned from various teenage scraps and the treasured one cutting through his eyebrow that makes him look more like a thug than Harry cares to admit he likes but was actually from falling off the monkey bars as a child; one of the only memories Eggsy has of his father. He has gun calluses to match Harry’s and scuffs from the equipment at the gym, bruises on his shins and elbows from where he practices his gymnastics.

Harry loves to add his own marks. Trace his teeth and his fingers across all of Eggsy’s hurts and press down. Grip fingerprints onto his hips and bite down at the juncture of neck and shoulder, skin prickling under his tongue until Eggsy moans in surrender. It feels a bit uncouth, not gentlemanly, but Harry’s learning he likes it just as much as Eggsy does when Eggsy tips his chin up, bares his throat for Harry’s lips, his teeth. It feels like reclaiming his territory from the people who have hurt Eggsy, now and in the past. And nothing sends a guilty thrill of lust down Harry’s spine like someone seeing the perfect crescents of Harry’s teeth over Eggsy’s collar and knowing Harry put them there. It’s even better when Eggsy bites back.

Eggsy’s been relatively injury free recently having been benched to admin duty following a nasty fall from a second story window during a gunfight which miraculously only resulted in a couple of fractured ribs. Now he’s fully recovered but not yet back in the field and Harry has been enjoying the smooth, unblemished loveliness of Eggsy’s body and the joy of having him at home, whole and relatively happy - ongoing attempts to give up smoking notwithstanding.  

Harry is in the bathroom, nominally brushing his teeth but really checking for new wrinkles, a concession to his gently appraising vanity which only gets ruder with advancing age, when Eggsy slopes in. He’s wearing tracksuit bottoms and a polo shirt, dark at the shoulders from the rain still falling outside. Harry tries not to watch the slow reveal of skin in the bathroom mirror. Eggsy is not stripping for show, the perfunctory shedding of clothes as he sets the bath running not meant for an audience. Then he hears Eggsy hiss with pain, a sharp clipped noise through his teeth, and Harry turns to see Eggsy’s mildly chagrined face and the grazes on the palms of his hands.

Harry lets his gaze travel down the rest of Eggsy’s body, gently appraising, purely out of concern, to the new bruises on his shins and more grazes on his knees. The damp pile of Eggsy’s discarded clothes, he now notices, is more torn and dirty than he’d registered before. He steps closer to take Eggsy’s hands in his, palms up to run a soothing touch across his fingertips. The grazes look sore, reddened, with tiny beads of blood welling up on the torn skin; flecks of gravel sticking to the already drying scrapes. Eggsy bites his lip and looks at Harry through his lashes as Harry fusses over him and draws him down to perch on the edge of the bath.

‘And how much of yourself did you leave stuck to the pavement this time?’ says Harry, deliberately letting his voice drop to the mildly reproving tone he knows Eggsy likes, the one he says makes him go hot and stupid, ready to do as he’s told.

Tonight, though, Eggsy just shrugs, ‘it’s fine, I just needed a distraction. Being off work is a nightmare and you won’t let me smoke,’ he looks mutinous, petulant, and Harry wants to kiss the look off his face. Instead he goes to find the germolene.

Harry kneels beside the bath to take care of Eggsy’s knees, cleans the grazes, dabs on the antiseptic and sticks a plaster to the deeper wounds.

‘Are you really struggling this much with quitting, darling? It’s nearly been four months,’ he keeps his voice soft, doesn’t want to rile Eggsy up. For all his good qualities he has a tendency to veer towards impatience if he is not immediately brilliant at something. Harry understands, he is much the same, as Merlin can attest, but Eggsy just looks ruefully down at his knees.

‘It’s just bad timing innit. Being on desk duty’s boring enough as it is. Thought doin’ a bit of freerunning would take my mind off it. Turns out I’m more out of practice than I thought.’

He spreads his hands towards Harry as if in apology and Harry ducks his head to brush his lips over the abraded skin. Eggsy sucks in a breath but pushes up into the touch.

‘Is there anything I can do to help? It’s no good if you hurt yourself when you’re off duty as well as on.’

‘You can distract me some more if you like,’ Eggsy says nudging his foot into Harry’s shin.

‘I thought you were about to have a bath?’

Eggsy trails his fingers through the bath water, flicks a few drops in Harry’s direction, ‘you could join me?’ his voice teasing now, rather than wearily resigned.

Harry smiles and shrugs out of his pyjamas to climb into the bath, a little hot for his taste but it’s how Eggsy likes it, and settles back to allow Eggsy to sit in the cradle of his hips. Eggsy relaxes immediately into the touch, into Harry’s gentle handling, almost falls asleep as Harry washes him, mumbly and soft in Harry’s arms.

 

V.  
  
Harry fucks into Eggsy hard. He’s close, heat spreading out from his hips and up his spine but Eggsy’s closer; Harry can tell from the flush across his cheeks, his lip caught between his teeth and the feel of his body around Harry’s dick. If Harry can hold out for a moment longer he’ll get to feel the beautiful clenching of Eggsy’s arse in orgasm, the hot, yielding sensation that will tip him over the edge.

‘Fuck, Harry, touch my dick, come on,’ says Eggsy, screwing his eyes shut as he writhes on the bed. His dick looks achingly hard, red and dripping, almost totally untouched all evening and Harry really wants to watch him come, just like this, on the end of Harry’s prick, begging and desperate.

So, Harry summons absolutely every iota of his willpower, his self-control, goes down on his elbows to whisper, ‘you can come like this can’t you?’

Eggsy shakes his head no, eyes still closed, gasping like he’s trying to form words that keep getting lost on the way to his mouth. Harry doesn’t vary his pace, keeps going so his dick nudges Eggsy’s prostate on every thrust. He can feel every sticky-sweaty point where they’re connected in sorching detail, their panting breaths and the slick wet sound of his dick in Eggsy’s arse sounds so loud over the desperation ringing in his own head.

‘What do you need? What can I do to make you come?’

‘Touch me, you bastard, wank me off, come on,’ says Eggsy, he’s tossing his head from side to side and Harry doesn’t want to push him so far that he’s overstimulated and that sentence was a shade too coherent for his liking.

‘No.’

‘ _Please,_ Harry.’

‘No. Concentrate.’

Eggsy visibly struggles to relax, his whole body tense and on edge, needing that last bit of stimulation to climax, and it’s fucking gorgeous, beautiful. He opens his eyes and looks up at Harry, gaze clear and unguarded, sucks in a shuddering breath and stops trying to fight his way to orgasm, lets his body go loose, simply takes what Harry is giving him.

‘Perfect. You’re perfect, darling boy,’ murmurs Harry and presses his thumb to the place where they’re joined, gently rubbing against the rim of Eggsy’s hole, pushing in alongside his cock.

Harry feels it, as if in slow motion, the moment Eggsy starts to come; the languid tilt of his body goes instantly tense, mouth open and eyes wide, gasping round the words, ‘don’t stop, fuck, right there, yes, don’t stop.’ And Harry doesn’t, fucking him through it, watching come paint his stomach, tense and hot, until the unbelievable feeling of Eggsy clenching around him tips him over the edge too, taking him almost by surprise.

Eggsy is laughing somewhat breathily into his ear when Harry drags himself back to the present moment, slumped against Eggsy’s chest and softening inside him. Eggsy shifts, making Harry hiss at the overstimulation, possibly in retaliation for keeping him on edge for so long.

‘You’ve been enjoying this too much,’ Eggsy says into Harry’s hair.

‘What?’

‘Me, all desperate and easy.’

‘It’s a good distraction though isn’t it? You weren’t thinking about smoking for,’ he turns his head to check their alarm clock, ‘an hour and ten minutes.’

‘I guess,’ Eggsy shoulders Harry off his chest to wiggle to the less sweaty side of the bed, ‘fuck, I could do with a smoke now though, you've reminded me.’

Harry rolls his eyes and follows Eggsy across the bed, ‘that is the opposite of the point of this. I won’t let you seduce me like that again.’

‘Yes you will.’

‘Unlike some _I_ actually have some willpower,’ Harry says, gently teasing.

Eggsy hums in a noncommittal sort of way and Harry watches as his eyes dart to his jeans, screwed up in a ball by the door from their swift transition from pub to cab to home to bed. There’s a pack of cigarettes in the pocket, Harry knows, although Eggsy thinks he hasn’t twigged. As far as he’s so far observed they are unopened but if they’re in the house or on Eggsy’s person it’s only a matter of time.

‘Enough of that, I’m not going to let you smoke.’

Eggsy starts guiltily, blushing again and Harry offers him a reprieve so he doesn’t have to explain himself, shifts closer to kiss him sweetly, forgiving. Eggsy allows himself to be distracted, smiling into Harry’s mouth and pressing closer as Harry lets his hands wander over Eggsy’s skin. He’s hot to the touch and getting hard again under Harry’s gentle ministrations, thrusting his hips against Harry’s thigh.

‘If I can make you come again will you throw them out?’

‘Throw what out?’ says Eggsy, his voice trembling, deliberately teasing, faux innocence and lowered lashes.

‘You know what.’

Harry runs his fingertips along Eggsy’s cock, thumbing lightly against the head to spread the slick already beading at the tip. Eggsy keens low in his throat as Harry strokes him, once, twice, up to full hardness, rolling his palm across Eggsy’s balls, velvet soft and drawn up tight while Eggsy mouths sloppily at Harry’s chest, digging his fingers into Harry’s arms. Harry uses his other hand to tip Eggsy’s face up to be kissed and then, between one soft caress and the next, takes his hands away, moves out of the heated space between them.

Eggsy’s eyes stutter open like his brain is slow to catch up with sudden drop off in sensation and his comically quizzical face makes Harry laugh out loud, ‘Harry what the fuck? Touch me, you dickhead, I’ve had enough of teasing.’

‘If I make you come will you promise to throw those cigarettes away?’

‘Yes, Harry, anything.’

Harry shifts them, with a quick kiss to Eggsy’s lips, so he’s leaning against the headboard with Eggsy in his lap sprawled out like a particularly delicious feast. Harry kisses him, deeper this time, while he slides his fingers down the crack of Eggsy’s arse to where he’s still wet and open, running his thumb over the rim of Eggsy’s hole to feel it spasm, as if his body is desperate to have Harry back inside. He nips at Eggsy’s bottom lip and continues his petting until Eggsy's rocking against his hand making delighted little noises in his throat, hums and puffs of air against Harry’s neck as he gets lost in the sensation. Harry murmurs, ‘open up for me darling,’ and kisses him properly, two fingers hooked just inside his body, caressing. Eggsy moans, then, and pushes down, taking Harry’s fingers right to where he wants them.

‘Harry, _Harry_.’

‘I’ve got you, sweet boy.’

Harry’s prick is making a valiant attempt to join in with the proceedings. He’s not young enough anymore to turn it around as quickly as Eggsy but to see him glassy eyed, drooling with desire, fucking himself back on to Harry’s hand so quickly is enough to kick his brain if not his body back into gear. Eggsy’s body feels like heaven, soft and wet with Harry’s come and so easily welcoming to Harry’s fingers, three now, stroking against his prostate. Harry wishes he could fuck him again but the glorious feeling of Eggsy clenching around his fingers and his body, sweaty and warm, pressed against Harry until the feel of him, the scent of him is all encompassing, is enough.  

‘Come for me,’

Eggsy smiles, laughs, fucking himself properly on Harry’s hand now, riding for all he’s worth to chase the sensation he so desperately wants, ‘I’m giving up smoking more often if this is the treatment I get.’

‘If you’re doing it right you only have to give it up once.’

‘That what you want? For me to give it up?’

Harry closes his hand around Eggsy’s cock, palm tacky, adding just the right amount of friction for him to thrust up into, ‘yes,’ and Eggsy comes with a bitten off shout, shaking in Harry’s arms. Harry doesn’t stop moving his hand, fingers sweeping in slow little pulls against Eggsy’s prostate, feeling the staticky jerks of Eggsy’s body as he comes down, dick still hard against Harry’s stomach.

‘Again.’

‘ _Harry_.’

‘Come on, again.’

Eggsy breathes out through his nose and submits to Harry’s continued attentions, gasping near silent, when he comes for a third time, sweaty and flushed and glorious.

Sometime later, when Harry is idly stroking him with a cool, damp flannel, a transparent attempt to keep groping him, Eggsy says, ‘you’ll have to do it, I think you broke me.’

‘Hmm? What’s that?’

‘Throw them fags out. I ain’t getting out of this bed ever again.’

‘You promise you’ll not be tempted to fall off the wagon again?’

Eggsy looks at him with a ridiculously exaggerated leer, ‘not when the wagon gives me a ride as good as you do,’ and winks, then soberly, ‘yes, Harry, I promise.'

 

VI.  
  
Eggsy is beginning to suspect Harry is doing it on purpose. The mark for this mission doesn’t even smoke and yet here’s Harry in another bar, with another cigarette and another beautiful and elegant women to seduce. Perhaps that’s not fair, Harry’s not that cruel and the woman _is_ looking at Harry with shiny, slightly desperate eyes. Eggsy gets it, he does, who wouldn’t want Harry Hart in black tie, smoking and lightly touching their arm, soft yet focused attention aimed in their direction. Doesn’t stop Eggsy from wanting to push her over the railings of this very exclusive roof terrace.

Eggsy is moving around the party in a meandering sort of way, tray of champagne held out in front of him, waiters uniform scratchy at the neck. He’s vaguely thinking of sideling over when Harry turns suddenly and begins walking with the mark towards the exit.

‘What the fuck is he doing?’ says Merlin sharply in Eggsy ear just as everything around him goes in to pin sharp relief at the flash of a blade at Harry’s side as the lift doors close.

Eggsy doesn’t even think, reactions impeccable, handing his tray over to a bemused looking party goer and darting to the stairwell. He can hear Merlin swearing in his ear and the clack of a keyboard but it barely registers. If this women fucking stabs Harry she’ll have Eggsy to deal with. She’ll have Eggsy to deal with anyway at this rate; he’s getting down the stairs fast as you like, no wheeze in his lungs, breath coming easily as he swings round the banisters and takes the stairs three at a time. Giving up smoking’s the tits, should have done it years ago.

The alley behind the hotel is dingy and disgusting; why can’t Harry pick nicer venues for his forays into hand to hand combat? He clearly has everything under control, though, the mark is already disarmed, her knife glinting several feet away but they're still fighting, quick and sharp. Eggsy’s already pissed off, they’ve got a hotel room waiting and not many hours left before dawn, it's time this was over. He sets his watch to stun, aims, and spares a glance as she drops to the floor.

Harry looks up, schooling the shock off his face, ‘thank you for the assistance,’ he’s barely ruffled, the bastard. His hands quickly dip into the pocket of his suit jacket as he leans up against the alley wall with a smile some might call deadly, ‘may I offer you a cigarette?’

Harry is the _worst._

‘I’ve given up,’ says Eggsy stepping forward, ‘but if you need something to do with your mouth I can think of a few things.’

 


End file.
